


fight back, sherlock.

by sodadesq



Series: kick the ball high and ill calculate the parabola [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Bathrooms, Bullying, Developing Friendships, Male Friendship, Minor Violence, Not Beta Read, POV Third Person, Swearing, developing mindpalace, let me just visit my mindpalace, like deadass mid fight, lower case, random mindpalace-ing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-07 18:57:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20980769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodadesq/pseuds/sodadesq
Summary: fourteen year old sherlock never saw a reason to fight back. he let his bullies do what they wanted. he'd never had anyone stand up for him.then came in john watson, with his steel blue-eyes and his football calves.





	fight back, sherlock.

**Author's Note:**

> fic two of my series.  
this is set a few weeks after my first fic in the series. this *can* be read as a standalone, but there'd be some more context if you read the other one first. 
> 
> emphasis is sherlock thinking in his mind, or 'talking' to people, also in his mind.
> 
> bold and emphasis is other people in his mind, that are not sherlock. i hope this makes sense!

sherlock despised p.e. 

it was nothing more than a place for testosterone filled boys to brag about their mediocre athleticism to their friends. he was in a class where half of the students would rather take their own eye out than participate in a game of rugby. the other half could be plainly described as 'sporty'. despite the wildly different outlooks on the class, both had something in common. they both hated sherlock holmes.

unfortunately, that happened to be him. 

every class was a coin toss. either he'd become a ragdoll for darrens, or left alone. he knew the verdict when he joined the rest of the class after changing alone in the bathroom. based on darrens' smirk and winchester's intimidating stance, it was the former. damn it. 

he tried his best to listen to their p.e teacher. his mind had barely stored away the rules for cricket, but he was sure he'd recall it when he saw other students play first. he'd been sorted into the fielding team. with darren. the boy complained about it to the teacher, who did his best to ignore him. sherlock wondered why they didn't let him sit out. 

sherlock muttered to himself as he shuffled to the far field. it meant he'd have to run to catch far-balls, but it also meant he was as far away as possible from darrens, who liked to be on a base. he watched the first few batters with a bored expression. they were horrid at batting. it never went very far. he'd faded out of life completely, lost in an empty forest in his mind. 

the forest was...strange. it'd been forming in his mind for a while, and on different branches of the trees were things he'd memorised. if he climbed one, he'd see the intricacies of hydrogen bonding upon the leaves. if he went all the way to the top on another, he could find a file on everyone he deemed a risk to him. winchester's file was on the top, followed by darrens, and then his goons. he knew it was a memorisation technique - mycroft had taught him - but it wasn't like mycroft had described. he could smell the pine trees, could _feel_ the branches under his hands as he climbed. he could even hear the leaves rustling as he moved them. mycroft hadn't told him any of that, and so he didn't mention it. it was like his own secret place in his head. 

he could hear a weird mumble coming from all around him as he was climbing down from a tree. he looked around from mid-tree. all he saw was a dull forest, and then it got more clearer. straining his ears, he lost footing and fell.

"idiot, catch it!" darrens shouted from the second-base. 

sherlock jumped. he blinked, looking up. he saw a ball soaring past. he should probably catch it if he wanted to reduce the chances of being beaten. he turned on his heel and chased the ball, trying to keep ahead. his glove was out in front of him. 

"come on, come _on_..!" sherlock reached for the ball, and leapt forward, closing his eyes instinctively. he heard the students shouting at him, a mixture of cheers and doubting voices.

he landed on squishy grass. silence. he opened one eye. his arm was outstretched, and the ball-!

his glove was empty. 

_shit_.

* * * 

sherlock stumbled against the wall, using his hands to guide him up. he'd been cornered in the bathroom after p.e. the door was blocked by darrens and winchester. he was a caged animal. he couldn't fight anyway. didn't know what to do, didn't know _how_. so he focused on defending himself with thin arms in front of his face.

it wasn't going well.

"how can you not catch that? it was right in front of you! can't do nothin' right!" darrens jabbed, pushing him back. his hip hit the corner of the sink. 

"bruise," he hissed. "not hard enough to be anything more than green."

winchester kicked his shin. "shut up."

"purple," sherlock grunted, never breaking eye contact with the boys. he might not be able to fight, but he refused to seem mentally weak. this was biology revision. 

his eyes scanned the room; there was a window but it was up high and small. he couldn't fit in it. hide in the stall? no, it was too easy to get into and there wasn't a window. the door, then. but how? 

his thinking was disrupted by a deep ache spreading through his cheek bone. oh, he realised. he'd been punched. 

sherlock sighed. "another bruise. do something else, you're boring me!" 

winchester snatched his collar, pulling him close. "listen," he spat, "i will fucking ruin you. i will break every single bone in your body if you don't stop talking. you fucking psychopath nerd. you're a failure. there isn't anyone in this world that likes you."

"which ones?" sherlock replied impatiently. 

winchester glanced at darrens. they shared the same confused expression. "what?"

"i said which bones. which bones will you break?" 

"...all of 'em," darrens improvised. 

"even my teeth?" 

sherlock waited for an answer.

"y-yeah. i'll rip them out and grind them to nothing!" winchester stepped to the side and threw him toward the door. "and make you watch."

"trick question!" sherlock bumped into the door, his palms in front of him, "teeth aren't technically bones."

the door being pushed open forced sherlock back. he saw blue eyes. 

blue eyes?

_john_.

"didn't mean to interrupt, fellas, but now that i have..." john spoke, eyeing darrens and winchester. "i kind of want to punch you."

winchester scoffed, stepping forward. "why would you do that?"

"he's my friend," john replied.

winchester jumped toward him and swung. john dodged - a swift movement of his head proved that he knew what he was doing. john drew back his arm in a fluid motion, and punched upward below his ribs. winchester choked, hunching over.

_incredible_, thought sherlock.

john hurled sherlock onto his feet. darrens lumbered closer. 

"this," john emphasised, "is stupid. fight back, sherlock. you need to fight back. use your head!" 

sherlock narrowed his eyes. what? he was using his head. he's always using his-

john whirled around as winchester got back up. sherlock turned his attention to darrens. they were back to back. his companion raised his fists. sherlock glanced down at his limp arms, and back up at darrens. he didn't have a reason to fight back before. he'd end up in trouble. his parents would scold him for indulging in a fight. and...there was a rush after getting hit. he couldn't describe it. it gave him something to think about. he never felt _bored_. which bone was broken? what's the recovery time? what remedies would help? it was a weird high he'd never told anyone about. his bullies would never do anything like kill him so sherlock was never worried about his health. thus the lack of fighting back.

but john was here. this strange blue-eyed football player who spoke to him. they'd known eachother for only a month. and here he was. against his back, having _saved_ him. why? what was the merit in saving sherlock holmes? did he want a favour afterwards? was it a ruse and he was truly on the side of winchester and darrens? 

**_sod them_**. a voice said.

_who?_ sherlock asked.

_**those people that think you should be punched**_. 

john's voice circled around his mind. sherlock squinted. his head. that voice. it was sincere. the flash of anger on those blue eyes. it was _sincere_. the clench of his fists. the way he pulled sherlock to his feet, urging him to fight back. he called sherlock his friend. his friend. 

_**fight back, sherlock**_. 

sherlock didn't have a reason to fight back. he'd never be seriously injured. it gave him a high. it was revision of biology. nobody had ever told him to fight back. and here was a guy who called him his friend, who wouldn't leave his head, and was telling him to fight back. sherlock glanced behind him. john landed a punch on winchester's nose. "why are you helping?" 

"because they're pricks and they-" john coughed, "deserve some of their own medicine! defend yourself sherlock or i swear to god, i'll-"

he made his decision. he turned to face darrens.

sherlock raised his fists. he threw his fist forward. it collided with a spongy cheek. darrens yelped. sherlock widened his eyes. his knuckle ached.

**_brilliant_**. 

darrens jumped. he tackled sherlock onto the ground. the two wrestled.

winchester ducked under john's arm, yanking sherlock off of darrens. "get the fuck off him!" he sent a punch to the back of sherlock's head.

sherlock's vision went white. 

john jumped onto winchester's back. the latter let go of sherlock, shaking to rid of john. john clung on, his arms wrapping around winchester's neck. sherlock blinked blearily, stumbling down onto the cold tiles. someone kicked his sides, and his ribs. it kept hurting; he curled into a ball with his arms over his head. this was pathetic. john had run in to save him and he was still being beaten up. his head was pounding, his nose was bleeding, and his entire body ached. he opened one eye to look through a crack in his fingers. he saw the foot of darrens in his peripheral vision. what attracted him the most was the sight of john. his legs flexed as he jumped around the bathroom. his eyes were steel. his fist never stopped being a blur even though his face was bruised. he was winning, sherlock realised. john watson had the upper hand against winchester, and had taken on half the load for sherlock. and all sherlock was doing was being beaten. like usual. he slowly got up onto his elbows, suffering another sharp kick to his hip. his knees next. he crawled along the floor to get away, using the sink to pull him up. 

he breathed haggardly. he caught his reflection in the mirror. his hair was brushed back with sweat. his cheek was already forming a bruise. his lip was split and there was smeared blood on his chin. his eyes stared back at him. the injuries didn't define him. he was sherlock holmes. he was john watson's _friend_. and...well, he'd never hear the end of it from mycroft if he allowed himself to be hit anymore. darrens was smirking at him. "bit more energy?" 

"only for you," sherlock thought for a moment. "blud." where should he hit darrens? he'd already punched him like john told him to. he was small, so he could dodge a bit but darrens beat him in strength. 

**_use your head_**, john's voice swirled in his mind.

sherlock ran a hand through his matted hair. his head..?

**_use your head, little brother_**. sherlock rubbed at his ears. why on earth was his brother's voice in his head? he hadn't spoken to him in ages. he blinked. he saw a forest. he whipped his head around, turning in a circle slowly. why was he- he looked up. he saw a figure in a suit sat in a tree. slowly, sherlock approached the tree. he hiked himself up on the branches, settling onto a thick branch next to his brother. 

_um, what?_ sherlock said, after a moment of silence.

mycroft gazed at him. **_you're terrible at fighting. don't fight him like that_**.

sherlock crossed his arms indignantly. _i don't have another way to fight him_.

his brother laughed, shaking his head. **_you always were the stupid one. must i spell it out?_** at sherlock's confusion, mycroft rolled his eyes and continued. **_you have an entire forest inside your head and you don't even use it. break off a branch and use it, sherlock. strategise. what do you really need to do, and what is just desperate motions?_**

sherlock scrunched up his face. he stared ahead of him. 

**_oh, this is mournful_**, mycroft hid his face in his hands. after a moment, he removed them. **_why didn't you fight back before? therein lies your solution_**.

he opened his eyes. it'd been hardly a second since he'd ran from darrens. the boy was approaching him, cracking his knuckles. sherlock leaned against the sink, blinking slowly. "hey," he said to darrens in a hazed tone, "i think you punctured my lung." 

darrens stopped, looking alarmed. "the hell? what?"

"can't breathe," sherlock wheezed out, falling to his knees. his fingers scratched against his throat frantically. "you kicked my rib and broke it. fragments must have-" he coughed, falling onto his hands and knees, "punctured..." 

winchester looked over, pushing john away from him. "it's probably a joke. stop being a little bitch," he wiped blood from his chin with the back of his hands. 

"wins...i dun' think he's kidding," darrens whispered. "i did kick 'im on the ribs." 

john ran over to sherlock, bending down. his hand rest on his shoulder, turning him over to sit down. "okay- sherlock, where does it hurt?" 

"chest," sherlock answered. his breathing was shallow. "i can't...breathe properly. my heart- it's quick. symptoms suggest i'm right." 

john's fingers ran over his wrist. after a second, he turned to look at winchester and darrens. "he's right. he's really hurt. don't you two leave. i need to report both of you and you need to stay here."

"yeah, okay. i understand." winchester said in a serious tone. a second later, he bolted to the door. "im not being reported. darrens, run!" 

the two boys almost tripped over eachother running out of the bathroom. the door slammed shut behind them, leaving sherlock and john alone. 

sherlock sat back, sighing. "they're dullards. it is also slightly worrying how after believing they had seriously injured a person, their first instinct is to run from all responsibility." 

john let out a breathy sort of laugh - both relieved and tired. he collapsed onto the floor next to sherlock. "how did you think of it?" 

"i realised they'd panic if they thought i was severely injured. the kicks to my ribs worked as an explanation," sherlock glanced at him. "how did you know i was lying?" 

"you were bloody convincing," john rubbed his hands together. the adrenaline was wearing off now, and his face hurt. "but it was your pulse. it was fine." 

sherlock smiled, chuckling. "i expect they'll be running off, panicked that we'll tell on them and that they'll be tried for assault."

they sat in silence, letting their aching bodies relax. it'd been an unnecessary fight. something that ended up being a fight simply because they could. 

"you know what, next time you enter an empty bathroom, don't," john suggested. "really though, you shouldn't keep fighting, you should run away."

"then why..."

"like i said. they deserved it this time," john replied.

the two sat in the bathroom for a long while. none of them knew exactly how long. sherlock had closed his eyes, exploring the forest. john was enjoying the silence, and the imagery of the two bullies panicking, thinking they might be responsible for sherlock holmes' death. it was a bittersweet ending; they were bruised and bloodied and would be in pain for at least a week after. it wouldn't be the last time they'd have to fight like that. it'd be wise for john to leave him now, before winchester got his revenge.

sherlock told him that. 

"yeah, but, we're friends. if someone wants to beat you up, they beat me up as well," john had told him.

sherlock didn't really understand it yet. why someone would risk their health for another person. john was in pain because of him. he'd was hurting and yet he was still sat next to sherlock. 

in his forest, john sat under a tree. he had red knuckles and a bloodied nose, but he was smiling.

and funnily enough, despite his aching ribs, his bloodied lip, his confusion toward the enigma that is john watson, sherlock was smiling back.

**Author's Note:**

> ive never actually wrote a fight scene before, but i did my best. it's probably terrible, but it is what it is.  
please let me know what you think in the comments, if you want to.  
thanks for reading!


End file.
